


I Just Want You

by Darcyshire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Does John want to get married?, John's Point of View, M/M, Mentions of Mary Morstan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darcyshire/pseuds/Darcyshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow was the day.<br/>Tomorrow, John Watson was going to stand at the end of the isle and await his bride.<br/>Tomorrow, John Watson is going to marry Mary Morstan, and there was nothing Sherlock could do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Want You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feardubh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feardubh/gifts).



Tomorrow was the day.

 

Tomorrow, John Watson was going to stand at the end of the isle and await his bride.

Tomorrow, John Watson is going to marry Mary Morstan, and there was nothing Sherlock can do about it.

* * *

John settled in his arm chair that evening, paper in hand. He knew he was too wired to read it, but it was a distraction. Sherlock lay on the couch, facing away from John, blue silk robe drawn tightly around his long body as if it would sheild him from anything John would say to him. John knew what he was doing to Sherlock. He was leaving him. It seemed to be a trend with Sherlock. Everyone, sooner or later, left him. Tonight was John's last night in the flat with his best friend. He had moved in with Mary months ago, but John still made his way back to 221B some way. Tonight was his last night as an unmarried man.

His heart ached that thought, eyes skimming over Sherlock once more, mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of Sherlock's torso as he breathed. John suspects he's in his mind palace. That's where Sherlock likes to hide away, even though he claims its for scientific and storage purposes. It's really the only place Sherlock can think - John knows that throught years of living with the man. John's hands trembled slightly as he opened his paper, tearing his eyes away from Sherlock. He mustn't dwell on what he was leaving behind.

Why would he? Sherlock was his best friend - one of his only friends no doubt - and he could always come back and visit him when Sherlock needed him or when a case needed solving.... But John knew that wasn't true. Mary was going to his wife and he was going to be a husband. He would work more hours at the surgery and spend his time with her. He would be a father to her children and he would have to care and provide for his family. He couldn't run off anymore. He couldn't put himself at risk anymore.

Sherlock was a risk. Just being in his very prescence put you in danger in his line of work.

John's eyes were swimming now and he realized he hadn't read a word on the page he was looking at, his mind racing. Sherlock still hadn't moved and John was unsure if he was alive or not. His heart jumped at that, a scene of Sherlock jumping off St. Bart's before his eyes, body hitting the pavement with a dull thud that rang in John's ears. Heart pounding, John got out of his chair, coming to the couch side, eyes looking Sherlock once over, fingers itching to place themselves at his pulsepoint so he could feel the life beneath his hands. John wanted to feel him, feel the skin beneath his fingers, how soft it felt and just alive. John stood there for a second looking just watching, tracking the slow rise and fall of Sherlock's chest.

He looked so blessedly peaceful as he slept, every line on his face all but gone as he relaxed. Sherlock was never relaxed in the waking world. He was no doubt stressed, yet he never showed it. He loved the puzzles he solved, yet at the same time he hated them. They confused him, yet they envigorated him. He loved it.

John glanced around the flat once more, eyes taking in everything he could see, a small sigh escaping him as he took in everything he was about to leave behind. Two armchairs faced each other on the other end of the room just in front of the fire place, perfect for the two to talk by the fire when Sherlock was in the mood to talk and have a decent somewhat human conversation.The skull sat in it's rightful place on top of the mantel in between dusty books, somewhat mocking John as his eyes slid over it. That was his replacement for when he was gone. That thought made him cringe. Sherlock had no one before. He sat up alone in the flat talking to a skull. In the kitchen on the table sat an array of test tubes and slides filled with various substances. Saliva, blood, hair folicles, finger nails. Anything gross that would peak Sherlock's interest. Sherlock's microscope at the end of the table, a chair pulled up to it. In the fridge John knew there was another head. Not a man's, this time it was a woman. Sherlock was testing whether or not a male head produces more saliva than a woman after death. John shuddered at that thought.

Upstairs lay Sherlock's bedroom. It was cold and dark, John knew. Sherlock rarely spent any time in that room. The bed was stripped of its sheets and the curtains had always been drawn tight. Maybe it was because Sherlock didn't sleep. When he did, he slept on the couch. Yet it wasn't a full nights rest, more like a two hour nap to recharge his batteries, so to say.

John frowned, a wave of homesickness washing over him. He wasn't gone yet for good and he was already wishing he wasn't gone. Why? He had been gone for months, happily living at Mary's place. Well, not happily. Things had been tense between he and Mary. What with his frequent visits to 221B and her planning the wedding, it was not a happy flat to be in for the most part. John didn't know what came over him when he went home. As soon as he walked in the door all he wanted to do was come running back to Sherlock's flat. He wanted to breath in the smell of Sherlock's colgone and cigarette smoke and the familiar scent of dust that greeted him in the doorway everytime he returned. John didn't want the sweet scent of Lillies or Honeysuckle. God, he didn't even want the beige wallpaper that clung to Mary's walls. He wanted the black and white and the smiley face and God he just wanted _Sherlock._

_  
_Watching Sherlock sleep peacefully once more, John knew what he had to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Which means no wedding because John can't stand the thought of leaving Sherlock.


End file.
